


MML Miscellaneous Ficlets

by cresselia8themoon



Category: Milo Murphy's Law
Genre: Gen, May also give uncontrollable laughter, Time Travel, Warning: May Give Feels
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-15
Updated: 2018-11-24
Packaged: 2018-12-30 00:09:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 23
Words: 12,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12096414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cresselia8themoon/pseuds/cresselia8themoon
Summary: Quick ficlets about Milo and the gang! What could possibly go wrong?





	1. Time is Coming

**Author's Note:**

> There is nothing more frightening than the unknown.

There are rumors among the locals. When the time comes, they say. It was a mantra. Nobody escapes time when it chooses you. 

You don’t believe it. Just a silly superstition by primitive minds who couldn’t grasp the complexities of time travel. 

Then it happened. 

It had started out like a normal day. Research in the library, get frustrated at Vinnie, fall asleep with a book stuck to his face, rinse and repeat. But Vinnie drags you back to the apartment, saying that you were in desperate need of calming tea. Across the street, two adolescents huddle together as they quickly walk to an unknown destination. 

A rift appears on a building behind them, swirling a sickly green as a shadowed arm snakes along the sidewalk, heading straight for the boy. Vinnie screams a warning, and they turn around in fright. 

The arm is filled with clock-like eyes, which move of their own accord. The hands of the clocks stretch out into shadowy tendrils, which snag the boy’s limbs and drag him towards the portal. 

That horrible portal which has claimed so many, and will continue to feast on its victims for eternity. 

You can’t move. All you can do is stand there and watch a helpless child be devoured by time. You take a deep breath. The boy can’t be saved. 

The girl can. Though on borrowed time. 

She screams and punches and kicks at the shadows with all her might. Nobody has taught her that time cannot be defied. 

Vinnie restrains her. Tears flow freely as the boy’s frightened face is covered by the shadows. She yells at Vinnie to let go. She has to protect her brother. She made a promise. She has to protect him. She promised. 

You can only watch as the shadowy arm retreats into the portal and disappears. It will come to claim another victim soon enough. 

The only thing you’re sure about: Whoever is caught in the clutches of time will not escape their fate. 

The girl cries. 

And all you can do is cower in fear of time. 


	2. Most Important Meal of the Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Feed Milo 2k17.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to look search through some hurt/comfort prompts first for this idea. Going with “You need to eat something."

 

Vinnie had volunteered to stay with Milo while Balthazar ran back to the apartment for a first-aid kit. The kid’s reaction time to that gas pipe being blown out of the ground hadn’t been nearly as fast as some of his dodging feats before.

 Luckily, Milo managed to get away with two minor burns on his left arm and a scrape to the knee. It could’ve been a lot worse.

“Maybe you should start reinforcing your pistachio carts. With concrete, or diamonds, or even silk,” Milo suggested, clutching his stomach as it growled loudly.

The pistachio cart had been destroyed during the explosion, but that was nothing new. However, Vinnie did regret not having Milo’s favorite food to share with him.

 But almonds and cashews would serve as a good substitute.

 “I can hear your stomach growling from a mile away,” Vinnie said, handing him a plastic bag filled with assorted nuts. “Did you eat this morning?”

Milo popped a handful of macadamias into his mouth. “I was going to, but when I sat down to eat breakfast, a lot of alley cats fell from the attic and I spilled my cereal on the ground while trying to shoo them out. It ate up a lot of my morning, so I kinda forgot to eat.”

 “So you didn’t react in time because you were low on energy,” Vinnie said. “It happens. But please don’t forget to eat breakfast next time. Most important meal of the day, remember?”

 Milo nodded. “I won’t. Thanks for the food!”

 “Don’t mention it kid. Or on second thought, maybe you can vouch for me in front of Balthazar when he gets back,” Vinnie winked. “And he says having a portable food stash to tap into when I’m hungry is ridiculous.”


	3. How to Succeed in Your Schemes If You’re An Evil Cartoon Capitalist

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok so we all something lighthearted after the feelsfest that was Island of the Lost Dakotas. This one is an X-over for P&F and MML.

“Mr. Random, Mr. Verliezer, my name is Dr. Polski and I will be counseling you today on how you can succeed in your plans after being defeated by a group of kids. But for the purposes of this session, you can call me Jenny. So let’s begin. Who wants to go first?” 

Both of them pointed to each other, crossing their arms and looking at anything in the room that was not a human being. 

“I’m thinking of a number between 1 and 100. Whoever is closer won’t go first,” Jenny said. 

“Zero,” Verliezer said quickly. 

“A number between 1 and 100, you brainless sheep,” Random scoffed. 

Verliezer glared at him. “Who are you calling a sheep, you pig? At least I’m not the guy whose scheme was so stupid that the universe decided to turn him into a warthog! Out of style swimsuits? In what sane world are you gonna find a market for those?”

Random stood up and jabbed a finger into Verliezer’s chest. “At least I had a cool secret fortress (made by Random Swimwear) where I could abuse the thing I was trying to exploit without interference! I saw your video footage, you were dumb lucky only one kid saw you electrocuting that robot backstage!”

Before a fistfight could escalate, Jenny blew a whistle. They sat down sullenly, the retorts dying on their tongues. “That’s enough. Now, pick a number between 1 and 100.”

“34,” Verliezer growled. 

“78,” Random muttered. 

Jenny pointed to Random. “My number was 47. Now, what do you think caused your defeat?” 

Random rubbed his hands together, hunching over in his chair. “I was going to make millions off bringing back old-timey swimsuits. But THEY ruined everything! My fortress, my men, my knock-offs, it’s all gone because some kids decided to dispute that STUPID fact-based song category! They will RUE the day they stole what was rightfully abused and exploited by me! This evil post-defeat monologue brought to you by Random Swimwear.” 

Jenny nodded. “Thank you, Mr. Random. Your turn, Mr. Verliezer.” 

“My ex-business partner Clyde turned my robot against me! Feeling pain, making souffles, juggling-oh the incessant juggling!” Verliezer yelled. “He couldn’t be a good little A.I and do as I command. Humans are vastly superior to any machine! They are subservient to us! But no, those kids were convinced C.I.D.D needed ‘help’, so they stole it from me! I could’ve sued for copyright you know! And win!” 

“I see the first obstacle,” Jenny said. “First, you need to take responsibility for your actions. You exploited nonhumans for profit, and these kids acted on what they believed was the best interest for your target, which you perceive as ‘stealing’. Now, the question is, how do you avoid making the same mistake twice? Well, I would begin by making sure the next group of children you relentlessly pursue aren’t the main protagonists.”

Silence. 

“Dramatic pause brought to you by Random Swimwear,” Random said. 

Verliezer groaned. “Would you please learn better product placement?” 

“Would you learn how to make better products?” Random shot back. 

“Would you learn to make products people would actually buy?” 

Before Jenny could interject, there was a knock at the door. They turned around to see a bald head poking in. “I have an appointment with Dr. Klein. Is she in another room?”

Jenny shook her head. “Sorry, she’s in the ‘how to conquer the world without killing everyone so you’ll have subjects to enslave you moron’ department. It’s on the other side of the building.”

“Moron?” he declared. “You dare call the great Aloyse Everheart Elizabeth-”

Random and Verliezer burst into laughter. “I can see why you need this place,” Random snickered. “Kids make fun of you in school,  _Elizabeth?”_

His nostrils flared, but several bulldogs in fedoras quickly appeared to haul him off to the right department. “Ow, my clavicle! Not so hard, you mutts!” 

“See you around, Elizabeth!” Verliezer shouted. 

Jenny waited for the laughter to die down before continuing. “You chased the main protagonists of your respective shows. That alone is a recipe for disaster. If you must pursue someone in the future, make sure it’s extras who have little fighting ability and willpower.”

“Yes, ma’am,” they muttered. 

“One more thing before we conclude today’s session,” Jenny said. “If you must declare the public are nothing but sheep-”

“But they are!” Random protested. 

“-do so in private,” she finished. “Not in front of cameras or microphones for all the world to see. That’s how you were exposed. Because neither of you actually checked if you were being recorded. Rant to your diary, not the cameras. Anyways, same time next week. Thank you for your time.”

Random shook her hand and stepped out of the office. “This crossover brought to you by Random Swimwear.”

“Oh, put a sock in it already!” Verliezer muttered.  


	4. You Did Not Just Insult Our Son!

“Yeah man, that was pretty cold,” Zack glared over his shoulder at Elliot before catching up to his friends. The other kids were still processing everything. It was hard to believe that someone would wish Milo never existed. 

Even Bradley, the least friendly person to Milo in the school, wouldn’t say such a thing. 

“Just ignore him, Milo,” Amanda said. “There’s no room for people who talk like that in my schedule.” 

Milo cracked a tiny smile. “Well, if I didn’t have the blimp scissors, I’m sure Elliot could’ve dug us out himself.” 

Melissa snorted. “Elliot actually being competent at his job is the day Sara stops obsessing over Dr. Zone.” 

As they rounded the corner, they passed an old, beaten car that looked as if it had never seen better days. The window rolled down. “Hey, kid!” Dakota waved. “Whoa, the rest of you look like you’ve tasted Cavendish’s cooking.”

Cavendish crossed his arms. “I wouldn’t have burned the stir fry if you’d remembered that it wasn’t Sunday. But that’s besides the point. Something wrong?” 

“The volunteer crossing guard just told Milo that the world was better off without him,” Zack explained. 

“You guys wouldn’t be resorting to anything drastic, would you?” Melissa asked. Her lip twitched up at a corner. 

“Who, us?” Dakota scoffed. “Never!” 

“Whatever makes you say that?” Cavendish asked.

“Okay, just checking! Wouldn’t want you to get in any trouble!” Milo exclaimed. “I gotta run home now. See you guys later!” 

“Bye!” Dakota said. 

Once the kids were out of sight, Dakota and Cavendish glanced at each other. 

“Rock, paper, scissors on punching privileges,” Cavendish said. 

* * *

In the end, Dakota won out (they went up to best of twenty because Cavendish was a sore loser and wanted to throw a punch badly). 

They found the volunteer crossing guard finishing up a musical number. The other kids were backing away slowly. 

“Hey,” Dakota said, casually strolling up to Elliot, yawning. “You’re a great singer. You take tips?” 

“Well, not really,” Elliot replied. 

Dakota grabbed Elliot’s collar and lifted him off the ground. “You’re getting one anyway. Well, more like two. First, do not insult Milo by telling him that the world is better off without him. And second, how about a knuckle sandwich?”

He drew his free hand back, delivering a solid punch to Elliot’s face. One of the lens of his glasses popped out, and his nose bent crookedly to the left. 

“Gun it before someone calls the cops!” Dakota yelled, rushing to the car. “So, what did you think?”

Cavendish rolled his eyes, stepping on the gas. “I still wanted the chance to punch him….” 

 

 


	5. Out of De Nile

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dakavendish monster AU belongs to cutiepie-tro on Tumblr.

Cavendish should’ve thrown Dakota out of his house the moment the sun went down. He shouldn’t have taken an interest in the man when his reaction to passing out from blood loss was ‘sweet, I’m alive’ instead of ‘AHHHH, a vampire!’. 

Also, his blood was disgusting. Werewolf blood tasted like...well, Cavendish couldn’t draw an accurate comparison because it had been a long time since he’d eaten food meant for human consumption. 

Something gross, he supposed. 

A book would surely get his mind off Dakota. So he sat in front of the barely lit fireplace with an old, dusty book. He’d just grabbed it from his study, not really paying attention to the name. Something about the history of the English royal family. 

One of the downsides to being a vampire was the acute hearing. So he could pick up every step Dakota took in the foyer. Four steps. And a slight swishing noise from his wagging tail. He glanced out at a tiny, circular window. 

He’d known tonight had a full moon. Since Dakota had recently taken to crashing at his castle (it wasn’t a castle, more like a creepy, lonely, Gothic-style house, but it made him feel important), Cavendish had carefully studied all the moon charts he had. 

It was the first time he’d actually cared about the passage of time since he was bitten. 

One time Dakota caught him perusing the moon charts and asked him if he’d ever heard of a calendar. 

Of course he had. He just never bothered. It was ridiculous. The question was ridiculous. 

These stupid new thoughts were ridiculous. 

Dakota actually trying to sneak up behind him in a pouncing position was a higher level of ridiculous. 

Cavendish stuck his arm out behind him once Dakota’s snout was within reach. “Don’t even think about it,” he growled. 

Dakota whined in disappointment, then sidled up to Cavendish’s back instead, poking him with a wet, black nose. 

It was better to ignore it. 

Okay, the back support was sort of nice. And the fur was softer and silkier than he’d realized. 

The book. Remember the book. 

Dakota growled softly, and it dawned on Cavendish that he’d been scratching his ears while he was lost in thought. He quickly withdrew his hand, and Dakota batted him with a paw. 

“No.” 

He did it again. 

“Stop.” 

Finally Dakota knocked the book away and tried to sit in Cavendish’s lap. However, the brown fluffball that attempted to pass for a werewolf wound up knocking him over instead. 

He’d just described Dakota as a fluffball. 

Vampires were supposed to lure unsuspecting victims into their lairs and take their blood. 

They most certainly did not use the word ‘fluffball’. 

Cavendish was getting a headache just thinking about it, so he decided to just let himself worry about it in the morning. 

Dakota didn’t seem to mind being a pillow after all. 


	6. Spider Lily

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In Japanese lore, spider lilies represent abandonment, eternal separation, never seeing the one you love again….

The flowers were in bloom, but the leaves were dead. If they’d come a few weeks earlier, they would have seen the leaves green and the flowers lifeless. Never would they be alive together, basking in the sun’s warmth and soaking in precious rain alongside each other. 

“The pistachio sapling should be around here somewhere,” Cavendish muttered, trampling the spider lilies underfoot as he searched for the tree. He sneezed. “Blasted allergies….”

Dakota remained on the outer edge of the spider lily field, staring at the odd crimson shape of the petals. “You know there’s a legend about these spider lilies. Some tragic story about two lovers who put their devotion to each other above their duties and got cursed for it. Read it on the Internet one time. Really kills the appetite.” 

Cavendish snorted. “Folklore made you lose your appetite? Now I’ve heard everything.” 

Dakota shrugged. “Well, you try reading it sometime. See what you think.” 

“Fine. I’ll look at it once we get back to the apartment. Help me look for the sapling now,” Cavendish replied.

Dakota plucked several spider lilies and zipped them inside his jacket. Maybe he could try making one of those flower crowns he kept seeing pictures of. It would be nice to have an item to remember this day by when he inevitably had to send this past self to the Island. 


	7. Brick, Brick, Brick, It’s Fun! Honk!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Discord gave me a wonderful awful idea. I REGRET NOTHING YOU FOOLS!!!!

Once upon a time there lived a magical, time traveling, human-sized brick. Centuries ago, the gods decreed that one brick to rule them all would be forged from the fires of the Fiery Volcano of A Million Painful Deaths. 

From the ashes and bones of a civilization long past, rose the human-sized brick fully clad in a tuxedo and bow tie. 

The gods blessed their new champion with the gifts of human intelligence, charisma, and speech. And so they conferred a new name upon it. 

Brick. 

Look, the god of creativity thought everyone in heaven was an asshole and went cavorting off with some smokin’ hot chick on Earth. But that’s a story for another day.

Brick had all the powers of time at his fingertips and-

Wait, he’s a brick he doesn’t have fingertips. 

Brick had all the powers of time at his rectangular mortar and so he traveled far and wide collecting magical items and picking up a rather sizable fanbase. 

One of the mysteries of this world is figuring out what people find so attractive in bricks. Especially ones that have no personality. 

But hey, it’s a fairy tale. Since when do people have three-dimensional personalities in these things? 

All heroes must fall eventually, and Brick was no exception. His adventures led him to the Danville Construction Zone where one miscalculation cost him an arm and a leg....

NO, HE DOESN’T HAVE THOSE THINGS EITHER SERIOUSLY WHOSE IDEA WAS THIS? 

I’m calm now. I’m calm. The point, my dear children, is to not wind up being a sentient brick for the site of the American Idol auditions. 

The end. 


	8. Size Ain’t Got Nuthin to Do with It

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for cutiepie-tro’s extreme height difference AU! Or mini-Vinnie AU, as I like to call it.

“Why?”

That was all Cavendish could say on the matter.

Dakota shrugged, depositing the bundle of doll-sized clothes on the table. “It’s like a secondhand store, but for clothes! Besides, this time of year they’re selling the ones with the fashionable winter jackets. I think I’d look good in mini-faux fur.”

He held up a tiny red jacket.

Unable to come up with a response, Cavendish got up from the couch, almost tipping it backwards, and grabbed the TV remote. Hopefully the local news anchor would explain it better than he could.

“The owners of Freddy’s Toypalooza have been baffled by the oddest case of theft in the twenty years they’ve had the store,” the anchor reported. The camera panned to the doll aisle, which had many packages opened and scattered around the floor, some dolls missing the clothing they were advertised with. “The only clue in the crime scene was a bent needle that had been discarded at the end of the aisle. Police believe it was the tool the thief used to rip open the packaging. The investigation is still ongoing.”

Cavendish shut the TV off with some difficulty when the news turned to traffic conditions. The buttons on the darn thing just weren’t made to accommodate anyone taller than eight feet.

“You can’t just raid the girl’s section every time you need clothes!” Cavendish complained. “Are you sure you don’t want me to crochet you a few things?”

Dakota continued to sort through the fabric he’d brought back. “No. You managed to get your hands stuck in a cat’s cradle last time and I had to crawl into that mess and untangle you one knot at a time. That took forever and I have a ‘not doing that again’ clause in my contract.”

“You can barely sign a contract!” Cavendish protested.

“I could do it the professional way if someone would make pens for fun-sized people,” Dakota replied. “The year 2175 and nobody thought to invent it yet. The nerve. Until then, the Bureau is receiving my paperwork all signed with a broken forest green crayon.”

Cavendish rolled his eyes. “We’re digressing. The point is you shouldn’t be stealing clothes from children’s toys.”

“Well, I’ve been meaning to try on the ones from that expensive stuffed animal shop downtown. The commercials make those things look appealing.”

“Dakota, no.”


	9. Run For Your Lives! It's Snowmageddon!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for Merrymurphyweek Day 1!

Snow was Elliot’s least favorite thing about winter. It was nice to look at, but there were so many hazards associated with snow. Cars could crash, people’s tongues getting stuck to flagpoles, and that wasn’t even getting into what havoc would befall the populace if Milo Murphy was involved….

Like that snowplow which inevitably attacked magical talking snowmen every year, he had to be on alert at all times. 

Just his luck when it snowed throughout the school day. He was already miserable from being out in the cold all morning. And he would’ve thought that on a Friday afternoon, the students would have been eager to go home, curl up with a holiday movie or two, and not cause the city any mayhem. 

But no, the kids were all distracted by the snow. 

“Hey, go home! Unless you have a pass, none of you are supposed to be on school grounds after school!” Elliot shouted to the students. They ignored him, continuing to create snow forts and throwing snowballs at each other. 

Something wet and cold smashed against the back of his head, almost knocking off his earmuffs. He whipped around, expecting to see that troublemaker Milo pretending he didn’t do it. 

Instead, he saw Principal Milder and Coach Mitchell engrossed in a fearsome snowball fight. “Take that! And that! And that!” Principal Milder screeched. “What’s the matter? Can’t take the cold?”

Elliot yelped and hightailed it out of that area as quickly as possible before a stray snowball could knock his brain out. He would rather face a dozen Milo Murphys than face Principal Milder when her competitive side came out.

Of course Milo would be here too. 

“Milo! What in blazes are you doing here?” Elliot yelled, storming up to him and his friends. 

“Hi, Elliot!” Milo exclaimed. He really hated how Milo always smiled to hide what his mischievous ways. “We’re trying to build a snowape! Usually it’s a snowman, but this year the Dr. Zone fans are having a contest to see who can make the best sculpture and Sara’s supposed to be meeting us here soon. She’s bringing the accessories.” 

Elliot glanced at the sad excuse of the snowape, which appeared to be nothing more than a misshapen pile of snow. “I’m issuing a warning to you three. Snowmen cannot be any taller than four feet. This one is two inches above the maximum allowed.” 

“I’m pretty sure zoning laws for snowmen are nonexistent,” Melissa said, unimpressed. 

Elliot handed her a small, official document. “Make that a warning and a citation for talking back to the Safety Czar.” 

Melissa promptly tore it up and stomped it into the snow. 

Elliot glared at her. “Do I really need to tack on littering and tearing up official documents too?” 

Zack groaned. “Just ignore him, guys. He’s not worth it.” 

Milo shrugged, a sheepish grin on his face. Before they could continue gathering snow, screams erupted from across the school. A herd of caribous stormed through, students scrambling out of the way while a giant snowball rolled past. 

“Nobody panic!” Elliot called. “Everyone stay calm while fleeing the runaway caribou herd fleeing from the giant snow-ah!” 

Something sprung onto his back, knocking him down and sending snow into his shirt. He wriggled around, flinching as the snow touched his unprotected skin. “Cold, cold, cold,” he whimpered. 

“Diogee’s also a caribou dog! Come on, boy! Mush!” Milo called. Diogee barked and the group ran off towards danger, leaving Elliot behind in the snow. 

“And another citation…for…for something about caribou,” Elliot finished lamely. “I really hate snow.”


	10. Kremheit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you ever plan to be a public school administrator, please do not allow any middle school teachers or principals to be unsupervised on uncharted islands.

The staff had gone off the deep end. Again. Like the Teacher’s Convention in Seattle, there was no discernible cause for the sudden psychological shift to primitive human beings. Some blamed the water, others blamed the ham-and-pineapple pizza they served for lunch that fateful day.  

It was truly one of the most baffling mysteries of the 21st century. 

Then Milder came across a clearing, where everyone else was applying streaks of mud to their faces. 

“Playtime’s over. You can LARP off the clock,” she quickly said, grabbing Murawski and trying to drag her in the direction of the yacht. 

Murawski hissed…literally hissed. Murawski quickly let go of her arm. 

“We are put on this earth to do the bidding of the almighty Kremheit,” she said in a mystifying voice. 

“Kremheit! Kremheit!” the others chanted. 

“I am the vessel of Kremheit!” Mitchell proclaimed, raising a scepter. “You must do as I command, or be tossed into my sacred volcano where I shall feast upon your intestines!” 

Milder glared at him, marching up the throne to stare him down. “No, Mitchell. You are the farmer’s son. I was proclaimed the vessel of Kremheit. Do you not recall the sacred rites I underwent at the Teacher’s Convention last year?” 

“He is not the sacred vessel of Kremheit!” Mrs. White declared. “He is a false prophet sent by Grugall the Malevolent to trick us! But we shall not be deceived! Down with the false prophet!” 

“Down! Down! Down!” 

“You may have the victory today, but I’ll be back. Oh, I’ll be back,” Mitchell’s eyes narrowed dangerously, as he slowly stepped down and backed out of the clearing without taking his eyes off Milder. 

Milder raised the scepter that lay next to her rightful throne. “This scepter is the proof that I am both the vessel and ruler of the Kremheitens!” she announced. “Bow before my might, O subjects!” 

Her subjects bowed. Milder took her seat, pleased that she had such loyal and faithful followers. 

“Your ruler wishes to be brought tribute,” she commanded. “Preferably food. Yes, food is an acceptable offering.” 

They practically tripped over themselves in their mad scramble into the jungle. Milder kicked back on her throne. 

Her name didn’t exactly reflect a simple life of commanding primitive minds and hosting a god, did it? 

From this day forward, she would be now be known as the great Milwa, vessel of Kremheit. 

* * *

“The time has come for you to present…your tribute!” Milwa beckoned Murawski to her, who carried a giant leaf above her head. 

“O Great Milwa, I bring you tribute!” Murawski set the leaf on the ground, revealing a lizard, a twig, and a tiny sprout. 

Seriously, what the heck was that? What part of ‘food is an acceptable offering’ did her followers not understand? 

“Your tribute pleases me not,” Milwa sneered. “The rest will bring tribute!” 

Before anyone else could come forth with meager offerings, Mitchell suddenly jumped out of the bush wearing a giant turtle shell. “No! I invoke the rite of Kremheit!” 

Nobody challenged her authority and got away with it. 

“You challenge me?” Milwa snarled, standing up. She tore off her sleeves effortlessly, revealing the streaks of mud running up her arms like tattoos. “BRING IT ON, MITCHELL!” 

The chants of Kremheit faded into the background. The only thing that mattered was asserting her dominance over these lowly commoners.  

* * *

“Quite a lovely picture of you and Mitchell!” Drako exclaimed. “I don’t believe I’ve ever known someone to be as clingy as my ex-wife though!” 

Milder buried her head in her arms, pushing the horrible yearbook away. The photo had mocked her from every angle ever since it came out. 

Next year in the student handbook, she was putting in a stipulation that Melissa Chase was not allowed to invoke freedom of the press for yearbook pictures. 


	11. Almost Over You

Dakota was a pop star. A celebrity. Popular with all ages. A successful guy like him would have all genders swooning at his feet, kissing the ground whenever he graced them with his presence. 

He didn’t need a nobody clinging to the waves of his success. Cavendish touched the poster of Dakota’s newest hit in the long line of musical sequels to We’re Going to the Zoo. It was just a promotional poster. They were everywhere. It was impossible to escape Dakota’s face in this day and age. 

Some days, he was relieved that Dakota was getting on so well. He’d aged so gracefully that his chubbiness had become more endearing than before. On others, Cavendish felt like Dakota was mocking him, taunting him with the reminder that he was a success and Cavendish had been holding him back from his potential all these years. 

Dakota wouldn’t miss him. He was just a lonely, bitter old man with creaking bones and had nothing but a tombstone in the near future. 

Cavendish held the phone in his lap, a trembling finger hovering over the call button. But he couldn’t do it. It wouldn’t be fair to Dakota. Surely he’d talk when he was ready. 

Maybe ‘ready’ simply meant Dakota let go of the past and focused on his music career instead. The same way Cavendish wasn’t ready to let go of the few connections he had to his old life as a time traveler. 

It was pathetic. 

But if Dakota did decide to come back, then Cavendish would give him a piece of his mind. He was fine without him. He had an apartment. He had a decent supply of food. 

He was almost over Dakota. 

He’d make sure Dakota knew it too.

Yeah, almost. 


	12. Milo Defense Squad, Move Out!

“Sweatervest is on the move, I repeat. Sweatervest is on the move,” Sara adjusted her binoculars, hunkering down in the bushes with Diogee. “Crazy Glorified Hall Monitor is readying his stop sign.” 

Zack rolled his eyes. “You know I’m right here. You don’t need to assign codenames.” 

“You’re just mad that you can’t have something as cool as Universe Queen,” Melissa smirked. “This is why I told you to come prepared with a codename, because you don’t want Sara assigning you one.” 

“Excuse you, but it took half an hour to come up with Hacky Zack,” Sara complained. “As a wise time-traveler once said, ‘don’t let your time go to waste unless you want it to turn into a giant monster who tries sucking the years out of your life.’” 

Zack still looked uncertain, but succumbed to the futility of his fate. “Haven’t after-school specials taught you girls that revenge is wrong?” 

“Eh, that’s only cause those kids on TV were never smart enough to cover their tracks,” Melissa shrugged. “Besides, this is karma. Not revenge. Now quiet, one-sided hostile interaction is starting.” 

Elliot practically shoved his stop sign in Milo’s face. “Stop, Milo,” he said curtly. “What horrible horrors are you plotting to wrought on the metroplex today?” 

Milo grinned. “Are you taking drama classes?” 

“Nah, there are only so many times an improv group can take skits on safety before they grow tired of it. I told them it was educational, but would they listen? Course not,” Elliot said, adjusting his sunglasses. He gritted his teeth in frustration. “Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing. You’re distracting me so I don’t see the full scope of your nefarious scheme! You thought you were smart Murphy, but you can’t fool me! Ha!” 

He folded his arms in triumph. 

“He calls that a speech? I’ve seen better,” Sara scoffed. 

“Shhh, I’m on the phone,” Melissa said. For some reason, Zack never noticed that she was on the line with someone. “Great. And remember, make it look like an accident.” 

Zack scooted away from her nervously. Melissa noticed his discomfort, and she gave him that same mysterious giggle he’d heard when he saw her photo-plastered basement for the first time. 

“By accident, I meant Murphy’s Law. Relax,” Melissa said. 

Elliot started to give Milo an impromptu safety inspection, convinced that he was breaking a million safety laws that nobody heard of or even cared about. At least it would keep Elliot in roughly the same position. 

“Waterfowl wagon incoming,” Sara reported. “Technically a pick-up truck, but I like the alliteration.” 

Zack gulped. “I’m guessing I’m not the only one in on this plan?” 

Melissa nodded. “Cavendish and Dakota were looking for an excuse to ditch work. So I gave them a job: round up some ducks and bring them here. They were incredibly interested once I mentioned Milo.” 

He took note of the feather and beak infested bed of the pick-up truck. “That doesn’t look like ‘some ducks’ to me.” 

“To be fair, the phrase is vague about the exact number,” Melissa shrugged. 

Zack watched as the truck ‘accidentally’ hit a curb, the back panel coming loose. The ducks tumbled and flew out, quacking up a storm as they descended upon Elliot. 

“Not again!” Elliot screeched, throwing away his stop sign. He screamed and took off, his arms covering his head. “Ducks! Why is it always ducks? Ow, hey, I need those sunglasses! Those are prescriptions!” 

“There’s a mattress store down the street! Just wrap yourself in one to ward them off! And don’t forget to protect your eyes!” Milo called after him. 

Melissa stood up, dusting some leaves off her clothes. “Hi, Melissa! What were you doing in those bushes?” Milo asked. 

“Zack, Sara, and I hid when we saw the ducks,” Melissa said. “Didn’t wanna be in the line of fire.” 

“You know, this isn’t the first time I’ve seen Elliot getting attacked by ducks,” Milo wondered. “What’s that about?” 

She shrugged. “Who knows?” 

One of the truck doors opened, and Dakota stepped out with a lopsided grin. “Good to see you guys again. Anyway, Cavendish and I are transferring to your division. I know you don’t have an organization, but hey, technicalities.” 

“Wait, we’re-ow!” Cavendish smacked his head against the roof of the truck in surprise as he climbed out of his side. “Since when did we talk about a transfer?” 

“So, I want four days off a week,” Dakota told her. 

“Deal.” 

Cavendish rubbed his head, still looking confused. “I don’t recall anything about a transfer,” he muttered stubbornly. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Melissa is Cavendish and Dakota’s boss now. Deal with it, Blockhead.


	13. A Teeny But Still Pretty Tall Problem

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on a conversation on Discord. Mini Vinnie AU belongs to cutiepie-tro on Tumblr.

The TV shows Dakota liked to flip through were completely inaccurate. Sure, no two people were going to be exactly the same height. But the pairs on TV never had such a dramatic height difference that prevented or hindered the normal couple-y things from happening. Unless the couple in question contained an interspecies aspect, or it was simply comedic in nature. 

And at the moment, his life was one darkly humorous twist to a classical Greek tragedy. 

Cavendish carefully flipped to his side, though when one was taller than eight feet, carefully tended to mean ‘I did not cause a localized earthquake by moving one part of my body’. Dakota snoozed away on top of a stuffed tiger, which was sprawled out on the bedside table. 

He used to think people looked tinier when curled up and asleep. However, Dakota seemed fairly determined to subvert this by taking the most undignified position possible. His limbs were sprawled out in completely different directions, and a fleck of drool spilled from the corner of his lip. Cavendish supposed that he wanted to appear bigger by taking up more space. It was a common defensive procedure among most organisms.

Honestly, there wasn’t much of a difference between an awake and sleeping Dakota. 

Cavendish stretched his body, trying to think of the day’s mission so that the thoughts of Dakota would go away. Something about protecting pistachios in a factory in the Himalayas. They would need layers. A whole lot of layers for Dakota, who didn’t have the size necessary to conserve body heat....

He was doing it again. Dakota had no concept of personal bubble, even when asleep. He always wormed his way in somehow. 

Then he looked down. 

He’d been hovering mere inches above Dakota’s face. He could’ve sworn the table hadn’t been so close before. Did he move it at some point, or had it always been like that? 

And that was another thing soap operas were inaccurate about. He hadn’t realized that being in close proximity to someone else’s face could be so awkward with the inexplicable urge to kiss them.

Before he could move, Dakota’s eyes flew open. He yelped, throwing up his hands defensively and snagging part of Cavendish’s mustache. Cavendish reared back at the pulling sensation. Good lord did he have a strong grip! 

Dakota swung erratically for several seconds, then Cavendish became vaguely aware of a feather-light tap against his lips. In his shock, he inhaled deeply. 

Just when he thought it was over, he realized there was something  _wriggling_ in his mouth. A tiny, sharp pain pricked his tongue, not letting up. Cavendish spat the offending object out, wiping his tongue on his sleeve to erase the sensation. 

“Oh gross, can you toss me a towel? I’m all covered in giant slobber,” Dakota complained from the floor, trying to stand while coated from head to toe in saliva. Cavendish dropped a hand towel for him, trying not to think of how he’d nearly cannibalized his partner. 

“You know, I wasn’t expecting so much tongue on my first kiss,” Dakota added. “Going a bit fast there, don’t you think?” 

Cavendish buried his face into the nearest pillow. He would never live this down if anyone found out. 


	14. Lullaby

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I AM SO SORRY

Music was in Zack’s blood. His dad always said that an Underwood’s red blood cells were shaped like music notes. His mom replied that they’d better be whole notes and not anything with a flag, otherwise they’d get clogged in the arteries. 

He couldn’t help if his interest was piqued the moment he heard singing. 

“I thought they banned musical numbers in the B hall after Scott’s sewer rat army stormed through and kidnapped the poor sap in the gecko mascot costume,” Melissa remarked, inching towards the lockers in case they needed to make it to higher ground again. 

Milo patted his trusty backpack. “I have several canisters of cheese spray this time. I won’t be caught off guard by a busload of people from Wisconsin, I promise.” 

“Nah, this one’s casual singing,” Zack said, realizing that it was coming from Mrs. Murawski’s classroom. “If it were musical number type singing, there would be some kind of soundtrack.” 

The group peered through the tiny slit on Mrs. Murawski’s door, which was normally covered by a poster of the water cycle. However, today the poster wasn’t there, which allowed them to catch a glimpse of Mrs. Murawski lovingly tracing a pattern onto her desk as she crooned a soft tune.  

_“Rock-a-bye, Oakley, on the rooftop._

_When the ax falls, you won’t feel a chop._

_When my blood pours, you won’t see a thing._

_And down will come love, to you I will cling.”_

They backed away slowly, making a silent three-way pinky swear that they would never speak of this moment again. This was far more disturbing than the dominance display Coach Mitchell and Principal Milder engaged in on that island. 


	15. Fight for the Meteorite!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ORAS AU.

“Who’s a good Poochyena? You are!” Milo cooed to a small pup who had just started to walk. Poochyena yipped, licking Milo on the cheek. “Anyway, Dark types really love Razz Berries. My grandfather told me. He runs the daycare just outside Mauville.” 

“Milo, as cute as a puppy playdate on top of a volcano is, we need to grab that meteorite,” Melissa reminded him. “Besides, my Poochyena is way cuter.” 

The Magma Grunt stared at her in disbelief. “Excuse me, Smokey is one of a kind! A starting trainer like you can’t possibly afford the shampoo needed to get her tail this fluffy!” 

“Oh, right!” Milo jumped to his feet, waving to the Magma Grunt as they ran off. “Thanks for letting me pet her! Bye!” 

They ducked and weaved past various members of Team Magma, ignoring their calls for a battle. “Hey, have you seen Zack? I thought he was right behind you!” Melissa yelled. “Ugh, why couldn’t we just do this in a secret underground hideout? I assume Team Rocket at least had air conditioning.” 

The heat didn’t faze Milo at all, even though he had a sweatervest. “I think he mentioned this wouldn’t be a good environment for Grovyle.” 

* * *

The great thing about the cable car service on Mt. Chimney service was their lobby area, which also had air conditioning and vending machines with a wide variety of snacks and drinks. Zack bought a Fresh Water for Grovyle and a Lemonade for himself, reclining against the cushioned chair with a relaxed sigh.

It sure beat sweating all his body fluids out. 

* * *

Cavendish was inputting several commands into a machine that contained the meteorite when Milo and Melissa arrived. He was dressed in a thick red turtleneck, so it was a complete mystery as to how he didn’t pass out from the heat.  

“Hey, Cavendish. So we kinda need that meteorite. You mind?” Milo asked. 

Cavendish glanced up. “Hello, Murphy. I was just preparing the machine to harvest energy from the meteorite. If my theory is correct, it will transform the properties into a Mega Stone I can use to awaken Groudon, an ancient Pokemon said to create continents with a single roar. With an expanded landmass, there will be more resources for humans. More land, more food, more settlements. So yes, I do mind.” 

“We won’t let you get away with it!” Milo shouted, holding up a Poke Ball. 

Cavendish looked unamused. “Shouldn’t that line be reserved for villains?” 

“You’re literally trying to awaken an ancient Pokemon capable of massive destruction,” Melissa said. “Most villains in this world like doing that. I don’t know why. Doesn’t really end well for them.”

“I choose Marshtomp!” Milo exclaimed, tossing his Poke Ball. Just as Cavendish was about to reciprocate with his own Pokemon, the Poke Ball smacked against the machine, putting a round dent in the controls and rendering it inoperable. 

Marshtomp popped out, getting into a fighting stance before realizing there was no opponent for him to battle. Cavendish stared blankly at the wires that sparked along the ruined machine. 

“You foiled my plan with a bad throw?” Cavendish sputtered out. He rubbed his head and groaned. “I just hope nobody from Team Aqua saw this. It’s kind of embarrassing.” 

“Great toss, kiddo!” someone called. “Don’t worry, Cavendish. I won’t tell anyone.” 

Dakota sauntered up, throwing his arm around Cavendish’s shoulder like he was greeting a friend instead of a rival boss. “Just put that machine over there,” he directed. Two Aqua Grunts wheeled an exact replica of the machine Cavendish had tried to use by the crater’s edge. 

“I thought you guys were all about the sea and stuff,” Melissa said. 

Dakota shrugged. “We are. I just felt like seeing what Magma was up to. Besides, Cavendish left the blueprints of this machine on his desk and it looked cool so that’s how I wound up here. You know, except we’re aiming for Kyogre. That’s really the only difference.”

Cavendish wriggled out of Dakota’s grip, glaring at him. “So it was you! And Brick told me I couldn’t go blaming everything on other people. And I suppose you thought it would be funny to return it with a lipstick smear?” 

“What lipstick smear?” Dakota asked. 

“Don’t play innocent with me!” Cavendish growled, taking a set of neatly folded blueprints out. “You left this smear in the corner! Not to mention your abysmal folding skills….” 

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure that was just a stain from some cherry cobbler,” Dakota said. “That stuff is good. Hey, you mind if I borrow your meteorite?” 

“No!” Cavendish retorted. “I mean, yes! No, you cannot borrow it!” 

Melissa leaned over to Milo. “Maybe we should let them talk this out.” While Cavendish and Dakota were in the middle of their argument, Melissa quietly pulled the meteorite out from Cavendish’s machine and stuffed it into Milo’s backpack. 

“Bye, Cavendish! Bye, Dakota! We’re heading to Fallarbor now, see you later!” Milo called to the arguing bosses. They stopped momentarily to shout goodbyes, then went right back to their quarrel without noticing the missing meteorite.

“Too bad Zack missed all the action,” Melissa remarked. “That was way more entertaining than the Pokeshop Channel.” 

* * *

“And then Cavendish has the nerve to put our hideout at the base of a volcano!” Brick complained. “So that’s why I’ve unionized the Magma Grunts into forcing him to change the uniform policy to red tank tops.” 

“I’m the only one with a decent fashion sense,” Savannah sniffed. “Everyone else seems content with cheap Halloween pirate outfits.”

Zack and Grovyle shared a glance. Being in the same space with the second-in-command of notorious gangs and bonding over a mutual dislike for certain kinds of clothes was kinda disconcerting. 

 

 


	16. No, You Cannot Type Self-Indulgent Fiction on the School Computers

_Sycamore’s luxurious surface pressed against Willow’s silken, rosy skin, her sensory receptors tingling with anticipation at the forbidden touch that society forbade. They would never understand how her heart pumped tremendous amounts of life-giving blood that made her cheeks flush at merely the thought of Sycamore’s countless grooves, each inscribed with the cherished memories of the years they doted on each other, ignoring the cruelty of the world in which they dwelled...._

Principal Milder shuddered, quickly gathering the attendance sheets she dropped in shock. 

“Relax. I’m a professional,” Mrs. Murawski grinned. “This document requires ten passwords which only Oakley and I know so that no student, administrator, or homewrecking beavers can access it.” 

Milder inched towards the door. Was it just her, or was the desk watching her every move as if it dared her to file a report on what she had accidentally read? 

She quickly made her way back to the main office, deciding that a visit to her hypnotist was in order. Yes, forgetting what she read seemed like the best course of action. 


	17. Paint it Red

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on brandyfloweyarts' lovely art of Dakota reacting to Cav covered in red paint! http://brandyfloweyarts.tumblr.com/post/173084540495/here-is-my-half-of-an-artfic-collab-with-my-pal

“Savannah and Brick are selling pistachios at the Farmer’s Market,” Cavendish explained, writing down a series of abbreviations and scribbles on the brochure for the event. He had at least five different plans for destroying the nuts. One of them was bound to work. 

Dakota munched on chips from the gas station, which irked Cavendish because he didn’t ask what brilliant and totally-gonna-work plan they were going to try first. “Farmer’s Market. Like a market for farmers. Wouldn’t it be funny if the guy sponsoring the entire thing was had Farmer in his name somewhere? Like Farmer Brown…Joe Farmer…duck!” 

Cavendish yelped as Dakota suddenly knocked the wind out of him. His head hit the pavement, making his vision swim. Above them, the blurry outline of a hollow metal bar swung back into a construction site. 

Once he could see properly again, Cavendish shoved Dakota off and shot to his feet. “Instead of giving me a concussion, use words next time,” Cavendish snapped. “You seem awfully fond of them.” 

“Hey, that metal bar is the one to blame for nearly concussing you, not me. Besides, you made me drop my chips,” Dakota protested, picking up the chip bag he’d dropped. “Oh good, all in there.”

“Right, the chip bag is clearly the most important thing here,” Cavendish muttered. 

“It’s the bratwurst flavored limited edition,” Dakota shrugged. “These babies are good. Want one?” 

He practically shoved the interior of the bag up Cavendish’s nose, and the processed corn chip scent was enough to make him stumble backwards in surprise. 

Cavendish coughed, wafting the air in front of him to get that horrible smell out. “I’ll pass, thank you.” 

“More for me then!” Dakota exclaimed. He crammed the chips down his throat with renewed vigor. 

He had no choice but to drop it. Honestly, Dakota could be so blind to how utterly selfish he was sometimes. The mission would always be secondary to food. He always answered a question with a ‘Dakota-ism’, which Cavendish defined as ‘deliberately avoiding the subject with a distraction and going off on unrelated tangents’. 

He had been ready to break up over an egg roll, for crying out loud!

A stupid, insignificant egg roll. 

Science would never be able to explain the enigma of Vinnie Dakota. 

“We’ve dilly-dallied enough,” Cavendish said after his temper had somewhat cooled down. “Let’s get this over with.” 

“Who even says ‘dilly-dally’ anymore?” Dakota wondered. 

Cavendish ignored the question, knowing it would only lead them into an argument about the vernacular of the 21st century. It was a perfectly valid expression. 

His attention returned the brochure he’d scribbled plans on, which was miraculously intact. Dakota could distract Brick and Savannah while Cavendish overturned the stand. Then he overruled it since they needed to be more covert so Mr. Block didn’t realize that they weren’t cleaning outhouses in the Renaissance period. 

Someone shouted from above, but Cavendish tuned it out as regular city noise. Then a silver blur crashed directly in front of him, and Cavendish yelped as he suddenly felt something wet and sticky splash all over his front. 

When he bent over to look at the substance that had seeped into his shoes, an uncomfortable coldness pressed into his skin. He touched it, leaving a crimson streak across his green overcoat and a sticky residue on his hand. 

“Blast it! This was my best suit!” Cavendish shouted, glaring up at the clumsy construction workers who’d dropped the bucket of red paint. They slowly retreated into the frame of an unfinished building. 

He debated going through with the mission, but figured that the red paint would ruin the stealth Cavendish wanted to use. It could wait half an hour. 

But still. Today was just incredibly frustrating. 

Even giving the container a harsh kick didn’t do much to relieve his irritation. 

“Dakota, I’m going back to the time vehicle. I have a spare set of clothes in there,” Cavendish said. Then he caught a rare startled look on Dakota’s face. Okay, fair. Anyone would be shocked if they were nearly hit on the head by a moving object. “Really, I only kicked the bucket a foot at most. By my estimate.” 

“Haha…kicked the bucket. That’s rich,” Dakota murmured, though there was no humor in his voice whatsoever. “Cause you kicked it.” 

Cavendish didn’t know whether to be annoyed or worried about Dakota making less sense than usual. Even more disturbing was the way Dakota’s eyes seemed to bore right through him. He placed a non-paint covered hand on Dakota’s shoulder, which jolted him back to reality. 

Dakota blinked up at his partner. “You’re here?” he asked softly, before turning away and covering his mouth. Cavendish couldn’t tell if he was trying to avoid throwing up or if those words had tumbled thoughtlessly out of his mouth. 

“I’ve been standing here the entire time,” Cavendish said, carefully steering Dakota in the direction of the Time Vehicle. “The Farmer’s Market will still be here tomorrow. The mission can wait until then.” 

 

 


	18. Zone Wars: The Anti-Ship War

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An explanation for this ficlet: @revenblue‘s Perryshmirtz Discord server was hit by trolls recently. They did not respect the rules and caused much annoyance for the mods and other users. Before they were banned, they accused us of supporting pedophilia and bestiality with the Perryshmirtz ship and hurled abusive remarks at a few people. 
> 
> That’s the abridged version pretty much. Moral of the story: Don’t do what they did. 
> 
> As a result, this ficlet is pretty much venting.

Sara yawned, rubbing her eye with one hand as she grabbed her phone from its resting place next to her pillow. She must’ve fallen asleep while waiting for a comment for the chapter she posted last night.

“I guess one comment is better than nothing,” Sara mused as she opened the message. She regretted it immediately. 

_zoniellesux: omg how do u 7ive yurself posting this trash!!!! y r u tainting my hubby zone w/ her 7ike grow up jeez. danie77e tried to ki77 zone so u r clear7y supporting unhea7thy re7ationships._

“Ugh,” Sara groaned. “Antis. Blocking.” 

She deleted the comment and refreshed the site to make sure it was gone. Then she slipped her books into her backpack and thought nothing more of it. 

* * *

 

The backroom in the comic shop was always reserved for Zonians on Wednesday afternoons. “Ready for your introduction?” Sara eagerly asked Neal. This was his first Zonian meeting, and she’d spent the last week preparing him for this moment.

“Sure am,” Neal gave her a cute, nervous smile. She could practically feel Dr. Zone!Sara slapping her brain tissue and shouting at her to not fizzle out. “Be nice, and if you can’t use canon evidence to support your headcanon, tread very carefully.” 

Sara grinned. “Yup! Remember those two things, and you’ll be just fine. Oh hey, there’s Wally! I think you’ll like him.” 

Wally hadn’t noticed them, since he was too busy typing on a laptop. “I don’t care if you’re a Level 100 Trashcandroid Queenslayer, you have no right to spam this channel,” he muttered. 

“Hey, Wally! I just wanted to introduce you to Neal, he’s kind of a newbie,” Sara said, her grin quickly shifting into a frown when he ignored her. “Okay, you’re clearly busy with something, so we’ll talk later I guess.” 

“Hey, it’s fine,” Neal reassured her. “The Space Adventure fandom gets like this too.” 

“A Speckie, huh?” someone said behind her. Sara jumped, whipping around to glare at Kris, who adjusted her spectacles with a smirk. “Way better than a Finkie. Those guys have no respect for logic and superior technology.” 

“Kris, this is my boyfriend, Neal,” Sara said. “He’s new to Dr. Zone.”

Kris scrutinized him closely. “Hmm, you seem to have the aesthetic of a Prepperogan, but the personality of a Soarnak.”

Neal stepped back, helplessly looking at Sara for an explanation. “It’s a compliment,” she said. “You have a better first impression on her. When we met, she compared me to a Trashcandroid.”

“You had rotten bananas in your hair,” Kris retorted.

“Yeah, I was knocked into a dumpster when Milo crashed into me while he was trapped in that giant hamster ball,” Sara shrugged. 

“Anyway, since you’re a Zonielle shipper, I was hoping you could cheer up Hannah over there,” Kris pointed to a small table in the corner, where a petite girl sat alone. Her arms were completely covered in fandom bracelets, and Sara couldn’t help but wonder if she actually got circulation in her upper limbs. “From what I got out of her, she’s been hit by some pretty vicious anons lately.”

“Alright,” Sara said. “On one condition. You help Neal get acquainted with some of the people here. You okay with that?” 

“Deal,” Kris said. “You have to meet Josh. Guy made a life-sized Time Ape out of tin foil!” 

Neal agreed, though he looked slightly intimidated at being dragged to a large group of enthusiastic cosplayers. 

She sat down on the opposite side from Hannah, who looked pointedly to the ground. “So, hi. I’m Sara. I don’t think we’ve met before,” Sara said awkwardly. 

“You’re the girl who gave that inspirational speech on the day of the movie,” Hannah supplied. 

“Yeah, that was me,” Sara replied. “Kris said anons were giving you trouble?” 

Hannah dabbed at her face with the edge of her shirt, then slid her phone across the table. “I know Danielle tried to kill Dr. Zone. But I like the dynamic. I didn’t think I was promoting...you know.”  

Sara read over the anonymous messages, wincing slightly at the heavy profanity. “Yeah, I feel your pain. I actually woke up one of those comments on a Zonielle oneshot I posted last night. I don’t believe you’re doing anything wrong, if that helps.” 

“Maybe I misunderstood the characters?” Hannah blinked, now flicking through her fanfiction to find anything that might’ve made people upset. 

Sara shook her head. “Don’t worry. Everyone has their own interpretation. Nothing wrong with that. Zonielle shippers tend to be antagonized in some circles though.” 

“So...are more people actually gonna see these comments?” Hannah asked. 

“Well, the website you’re using doesn’t quite have the best block and delete system. Personal experience with that. But if you’d like, I can show you how to get rid of those comments....” 


	19. Accident

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A what if scenario for Love Tobaggon. Death tw.

It’s funny how moving deathtraps could put things into perspective. Like how adorable Neal’s smile could be when he was nervous. Sara’s heart fluttered as her little bro serenaded them with a romantic ballad, while Melissa gave them a knowing smirk. 

The toboggan would take them wherever it wanted. And that was perfectly fine. 

Sara and Neal laughed as they zipped through the sewers. She was having the time of her life! Even though she’d been awkward at the diner, Neal hadn’t minded in the least. She was definitely making up for it now! 

The boiler rumbled behind them, shaking the entire toboggan as it shot a column of steam underneath them. And it felt like they were flying with no cares in the world. Or maybe those were her feelings talking. 

Then she heard an awful scream cut short, and crimson stained the blue sky above. 

* * *

 

Most of the blood had splattered on Milo upon impact. No amount of detergent could possibly save his jacket and pants. Melissa had a large patch of red on her left shoulder, while the rest of them only had small flecks dotting their faces and clothes.

Diogee was the one who brought the toboggan to a complete stop, since everyone was in a deep stupor from the sudden blood splatters. There was no fanfare in his help this time.

Sara guided Milo to the sidewalk. He stumbled as he tried to sit on the curb, but she managed to catch him. Tears mixed with the specks of blood on his face as Sara tugged his winter clothing off, leaving him in a plain T-shirt.

“Cry it out,” she whispered, shifting so Diogee would have room between them. “Don’t look. I’m here.” 

She had no idea what she was saying. But she couldn’t panic. Not here. Not now. Milo needed her. His head rested against her neck, fingers digging into her shoulder blades.  

Melissa and Zack rubbed circles into Milo’s back, trying to reassure themselves as well.

Neal stood awkwardly to the side. He took a step towards them, but thought better of it and held himself back.

“You can join in,” Sara said quietly. “We don’t mind.”

Sara took a deep breath and glanced towards the street. A man dressed like Time Ape-Vinnie Dakota, she remembered him from the Pistachion incident-watched them, his tinted glasses making his expression impossible to read.

He didn’t stay by the body. Not to cry or say a few words. Sara found it odd, though she supposed people just processed grief differently. Maybe he was just the stoic type. 

Dakota paused as he passed by them. “Count yourself lucky. At least you guys still have a place.” 

And he was gone. 

The least she could do was be the sister Milo deserved. 


	20. Pocky Game

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to write angst free Dakavendish.

“You wanted to know what games 21st century teens play during school,” Melissa said, tossing a box of chocolate-flavored Pocky at Cavendish. “This is your answer.” 

“This is a snack,” Cavendish said, staring at the box in confusion. All three teens seemed oddly...giggly. 

Milo failed to stifle a laugh behind his hands. “Yup! That’s what makes it fun! So, first you’ll need a partner.” 

Dakota wrapped his arm around Cavendish’s shoulders. “That’s me. Your  _attractive_  partner, to be more accurate.” 

“Must you always toss those words back at me?” Cavendish groaned, wanting to disappear into his hat like a rabbit and never come out. 

Zack coughed to interrupt them. “Now take one stick and both of you pick an end.” 

Dakota was quick to take the chocolate-coated side. Cavendish sighed, wondering if Dakota would ever ask for his input on which part he wanted. 

“Close,” Melissa smiled deviously. “Now put it in your mouth.” 

Milo’s giggles became louder. 

There was a small crunch from Dakota’s end when he broke a small piece off. He wiggled the Pocky stick between his teeth teasingly.

Cavendish blushed. “Don’t you know anything that doesn’t involve...touching the other person’s mouth?” 

“Is that what you call kissing in the future?” Zack asked. 

“Did I mention that if you forfeit, you’ll forever be a chicken in the eyes of your peers?” Melissa added. 

Cavendish quickly put the stick in his mouth. Then he realized that he could smell the chocolate in Dakota’s breath, and-

Wait, why was his mouth so close? Why was all of Dakota that close? He thought they’d been sitting a few inches apart! Cavendish broke off a small piece, letting his thoughts turn to chewing and swallowing and not choking. And now he had to think of basic body processes to avoid thinking of how close Dakota’s nose was to his mustache. 

Dakota had a rather nice nose, he thought. 

Vaguely he heard Melissa try to shush Milo since he wouldn’t stop laughing. He was a teenage boy. Perhaps laughing at this-was-an-incident-and-totally-not-a-romantic-display was just how their brains worked. 

Cavendish felt Dakota’s lips quiver against his. He must not have been paying much attention to how quickly they demolished the Pocky. But he couldn’t pull back now. 

Finally, there was only a centimeter of Pocky that was untouched. The slightest movement would break the stick. Cavendish and Dakota held their positions, silently daring each other to make the first move. 

As an act of defiance against the lovely, multicolored eyes that bore into his own, Cavendish inhaled sharply, taking the last of the Pocky. 

But he did not account for Dakota’s lips pressing against his own. 

“Oooooh!” Milo and Melissa shouted. 

Zack, seemingly the only mature one in Milo’s group of friends, looked at a wall and let them have this moment. 

Cavendish broke it off quickly, releasing a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. 

“Of course, there are plenty of smaller snack foods this game works with too,” Melissa said. “So party games are what it takes, huh?” 

Nope. This was a one-time deal and that was it. Cavendish glanced at Milo, whose breaths came out in spurts as he continued to fail in restraining his laughter. 

Yeah, he wouldn’t be any help at all. 


	21. The Tumultuous Time Traveling Driving Test Waltz

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Even though it’s not a test or a waltz lol.

For all of society’s advances, 2175 still hadn’t figured out how to make it safer for all parties involved when it came to a teenager learning to drive. Even the best and most expensive flying vehicles could be destroyed by a rookie’s mistake. 

And that wasn’t even getting into the added dangers of navigating the timestream. There were just so many variables. 

One could potentially be ejected from the vehicle and left to float in space-time forever. There was a possibility of running out of time juice, taking a wrong turn and winding up in the Byzantine Empire, or temporal highwaymen waiting in the depths to rob unsuspecting drivers….

When all of those factors were taken into account, snatching control of the steering wheel from Milo was the most logical course of action. Milo’s concentration broke when Cavendish jerked the wheel to the right, forcing the vehicle to swerve wildly to the side.

“Eyes on the road,” Cavendish said sternly when he noticed Milo staring at him. His fingers were slowly turning white against the seat belt. 

“It’s more like a green swirl than a road,” Milo admitted, quickly returning his attention to the outside of the vehicle. “I guess lanes aren’t a thing here.” 

“Perks of time travel. We don’t have rush hour,” Dakota supplied from the back seat. “Or traffic lights.” 

Cavendish bit his lip to keep himself from yelling at Dakota in front of Milo. How could he be so calm? They were driving in the timestream with a Murphy for crying out loud! 

“Maybe we should pull over,” Cavendish suggested, tugging at his collar as Milo turned left a few seconds early. Several clocks bounced against the windshield, causing the right wiper to break off and drift into the void. “Is the time juice too low? I think it’s too low. The antennae could be crooked. You always need to check that before you step into a time vehicle. Not to mention the broken rear view mirror, the radio that only plays stuff from the Christmas music station, can you even see out the window? I don’t think you have a good vantage point.” 

“Whoa. Whoa. Hey, you’d better come into the backseat. Trust me, it’ll feel like a smoother ride back here,” Dakota said, patting the open seat next to him encouragingly. “Don’t worry about us, kid. You’re a natural. Oh, and be sure to set the dial to 21st century. You always want to be sure you’re headed to the right time.” 

Milo nodded. “I’ll keep my eye on it! I have plenty of spare tires in my backpack too. And carjacks are pretty good for lifting anything heavy.” 

“Great. I don’t need to lecture you on basic car safety or preparations and all that boring stuff,” Dakota said. “You’ve got all it down.” 

Cavendish unbuckled his seat belt, clutching the headrest for support as he moved towards the back. As Milo drove them over a bumpy stretch of swirls, his head slammed against the roof of the vehicle, causing him to stumble into Dakota’s stomach with a pained groan. 

“Comfortable yet?” Dakota asked. He grinned, leaning against the side casually. 

With some effort, Cavendish managed to haul himself onto the backseat. “I will never be comfortable in this sorry excuse of a time vehicle,” he muttered.  

Dakota’s stomach was a far better headrest anyway. 

“Don’t worry, kid. He’s fine,” Dakota called to Milo. “Just give him a while and he’ll calm down.” 

“That’s good!” Milo exclaimed. “You know, there was this one time where my dad was driving down the highway and then this ginormous swarm of locusts ate all the grass on the sides and blocked all visibility so-” 

“And no anecdotes about accidents when you’re driving! Have you even double-checked the dial so we're going to the right century?” 

“Maybe not," Dakota said. 


	22. Tuxedos

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...I never expected to get Brick feels. Spoilers for Spy Little Sister below!

Tuxedos weren’t for playgrounds, they said. Kids were supposed to get dirty, with grass stains on their shorts and stray wood chips in their hair. 

But everyone wore T-shirts, shorts, and overalls to the playground. If he wore the tuxedo, Mom and Dad wouldn’t miss him after it was time to leave! It was awful hard to worry when there were jungle gyms to conquer and stamina competitions on the monkey bars to win. 

But the hour was up, and Mom packed his siblings into the car. They didn’t call out for him. Brick’s victory on the monkey bars was short-lived. 

The car peeled away. 

Brick ran after it, but the exhaust consumed his vision and he had to stop. 

It was nightfall by the time Dad picked him up.

* * *

 

Tuxedos were apparently not for school field trips either. Some of his peers made jokes about trapping him in the penguin exhibit and coming back to find him performing tricks for fish. 

“ _Dumb as Brick_ ,” they whispered. 

The gorillas were better company anyway. Gorillas were strong creatures. They were smart too. They didn’t care what people thought of them! 

He needed to find a way to be like the gorillas. Start lifting weights maybe. Drink more milk to build his bones too. And he liked fruit. Yeah, it was sounding like a good plan. 

The screech of tires against asphalt drew his attention, and he cried out as the school bus peeled away from the parking lot. 

The gorilla ate his banana too. 

That was just perfect. 

* * *

 

Tuxedos were optional in prom, but Brick didn’t care for the dress shirt and tie only combo favored by most of the males. It just wasn’t classy. 

Besides, he was going to prom with Reina. 

She was the 2nd most popular girl in his grade, just after Cindy. He knew he didn’t have a snowball’s chance with Cindy, so he’d gone for Reina instead. He could practically see everyone’s faces when they realized the acne-ridden, lanky guy they’d mercilessly teased for twelve years had managed to score a date with  _Reina._  

He knocked on her door, straightening his bow tie nervously. When it opened, he quickly held the flowers away from his body. “Reina, doyouwannagotopromwithme?” he said, inwardly wincing at his voice cracks. 

She was stunningly beautiful, with her glossy jet-black hair dropping in ringlets around her shoulders and a royal blue dress that came down mid-thigh. And her face was just... _wow._  

Soft pink blush on her cheeks, just a tiny bit of eyeliner...

And she was making a face. 

They stood in awkward silence for several minutes. 

Reina grinned nervously as a limo full of laughing teenagers pulled up in front of her house. “I’m going with Eric. You know you never asked me, right?” 

Brick froze as it slowly dawned on him that for all his planning, for all the checklists he’d put together, he’d forgotten the most crucial step of all. 

He’d forgotten to ask her out. 

Oops. 

“Uh, I’m just gonna...just gonna stand over here,” Brick said awkwardly, stepping to the side so her path wasn’t blocked. “Sorry.” 

“Uh, yeah...” Reina coughed, still at a lost for words. She quickly hurried to the limo, greeting her friends eagerly. 

They were gone in ten seconds. 

The flowers in Brick’s hands wilted. 

* * *

 

Tuxedos were a vital part of being an agent. It was professional to dress nicely. And they worked for every time period after the 19th century. 

But a tuxedo would never prevent Savannah from acting on her own. She valued her autonomy. And Brick respected that. 

But she still left him behind. 

It didn’t hurt any less. 

Before he could mull over his feelings even more, an elderly woman approached him on the sidewalk. She looked around expectantly, her gaze dropping with a heavy sigh. “Aww, I was supposed to meet someone here for a mentorship program. That’s the problem with being old. You always get left behind.” 

He was a young child alone on a playground. 

He was a ten year old on display at the zoo. 

He was a teenager feeling dejected on the sidewalk. 

“Actually ma’am, perhaps you’d like to mentor me?” Brick asked, the words tumbling out of his mouth faster than he could process them. 

She smiled back at him. 

Tuxedos could give new opportunities as well. 


	23. Techno Trouble

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So…in light of recent happenings….

An unholy wail shook the walls of the house, causing several picture frames to crash to the floor. Two windows in the living room were cracked, and Martin had to rush outside to check if the satellite dish had been knocked out of place, much to his frustration. 

The season 16 finale of Let’s All Dance Until We’re Sick had been interrupted. Brigitte would be going crazy all night if they didn’t get the connection back. She’d been rooting for the team of Joanna Gaits and Valerie Sinclair for the past few months, and would not rest until they got the prize money so they could achieve their dreams of establishing a dance school in Nepal. 

Diogee pushed his head under a pillow and whimpered. His tail was tucked between his stubby legs. 

“I’ll go check on Sara,” Milo offered. Brigitte didn’t respond. Her eyes were still staring at the static-filled screen, fists clenched in her lap. “I think she’s reached a pitch only dogs can hear again.” 

As he approached Sara’s room, the sound of furious clacking filled the air. When she got mad at something over the Internet, her typing grew more erratic until even her most slang-fluent peers couldn’t make the words out. 

Her door was open, but Milo still knocked on the frame to be polite. Sara spun in her rolling chair, head lolled back in frustration as she waited for a page to load. Which would probably take a while. 

It really depended on the magpies that had taken residence in the Murphy chimney. Going onto the roof to fix even one shingle required a lot of protection. 

“Sara? Are you okay?” Milo asked. “Dad’s gone out to the roof to check the dish. TV’s out too.”

Sara paused in her spinning. “I’m peachy. And I mean the type of peach that got knocked off a delivery truck, bounced along the John P. Tristate Freeway going south on rush hour, and eventually reduced to a pile of mushy cells that will be taken to who-knows-where by millions of uncaring drivers in this game we call life.”  

“So where did the peach come from?” Milo asked. 

Sara stared at him blankly. 

Milo grinned. “Sorry, bit of an inside joke.” 

She sighed, hands running down her face dramatically. “It came from my Rollr account disappearing. All the work I put into those headcanons? Gone. The meta I poured the depths of my soul into? Poof. It’s like all of those hours I spent researching ape anatomy didn’t matter at all!” 

“Did you accidentally delete it?” Milo asked, nervously smiling as Sara pushed her face into his, clearly offended by his suggestion. 

“I cannot believe one of my own kin, who shares his blood with me…well, not really since our blood types aren’t compatible, but that’s besides the point…would even ask such a question,” Sara placed her hand over her heart and swooned. Milo quickly inflated an air mattress from his backpack just in case. 

Then Sara’s phone lit up with a text message from Kris. 

_Kris: ROLLR!!!!!!! :(_

_Sara: Tell me bout it. Zonefan4life down_

_Kris: WHAT????????????_

_Sara: im salty_

_Kris: Binarytrash gone too. So is unicorn-oldbie_

_Sara: Wally and Frank doing ok? :P_

_Kris: Wally slaying stuff on Zonecraft server, Frank making ventart_

_Sara: Good luck with yours_

_Kris: Gonna need it. Heard if you try contacting Rollr support, they can restore account with everything intact. Might take a while though idk_

_Sara: Ill try thanks for tip_

_Kris: No prob. Gtg Walls going off the wall again_

_Sara: Boo bad_

_Kris: LOL_

“Wow, you weren’t kidding,” Milo admitted. “Hope you can get that back.” 

“I’ll survive. By the hair of a camel’s tail,” Sara sighed. “I’ll see once Dad fixes the Internet connection.” 

On cue, the wi-fi icon turned completely white. Sara shouted in triumph and immediately began Googling steps for contacting Rollr support. 

They could hear Brigitte cheer from the living room as a drumroll sounded just before the judges announced the winner. 

_“We preempt the most anticipated season finale in years to bring you reports of cosplayers in trash cans and ape costumes marching in protest of the popular social media site, Rollr!”_

“NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” 


End file.
